


Sense Of Home

by Hazysunray



Category: NCIS
Genre: Abby blowing shit up, Big Brother Tony, Daddy Gibbs, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Insecure Tony, Insecurity Issues, Little Abby, Little Jimmy, Little Timmy - Freeform, Little Ziva, Papa Gibbs, Team as Family, These kids seriously need decent fathers, basically just family fluff, hc, little Tony, little brother Tim, little sister Abby, neurotic Tim, protective Gibbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-27 06:59:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6274411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazysunray/pseuds/Hazysunray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow Gibbs as he tackles single life with three kids.<br/>Title taken from the song by Harrison Storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS/ anything else that may happen to appear in this fanfiction story. Only my words.
> 
> Jimmy = Ducky’s godson. Jimmy’s parents died in a car accident.  
> Ziva = the girl next door, goes to the same school as the kids (same class as Abby).

I’ve struck a bit of writer’s block with Keep Your Heart Strong so I decided to write something familial and sappy for NCIS. Oh and I have no idea how the layout works on AO3 so please bear with me ^^;

Jimmy = Ducky’s god son. Jimmy’s parents died in a car accident.  
Ziva = the girl next door, goes to the same school as the kids (same class as Abby).  


Ages in this installment:  
Tony: 10  
Ziva: 9  
Abby: 8  
Jimmy: 7  
Tim: 5  
  


“It’s no fair!” Tony cried, showing off a mouthful of half-chewed Frosties.  
Gibbs simply raised one eyebrow in his direction before redirecting his attention to his daughter’s pigtail-in-the-making. Tony was not the least bit cowed, however, and continued, “Abby always gets away with everything ‘cause she’s a girl!”  


Abby stuck out her tongue at Tony, who in turn pulled a face at her when he thought Gibbs wasn’t looking. The interaction between his siblings made Tim chortle, earning himself a stern look from his dad and a finger pointed in the direction of his cereal bowl. With a pout, the youngest of the family resumed picking at his soggy breakfast.  


“An’ it was _my_ model!” Tony pushed on, determined.  
“Accidents happen, Tony,” Jethro tried to reason with the ten-year-old, “and Abby apologized for breaking your toy.”  
“ _Dad_!” the boy groaned, “it’s not a toy. It’s a model. And she broke it after I told her not to touch it!”  
“Yeah, well, we’re s’posed to share!” Abby put forth, wincing a little as her father pulled a little too sharply at her hair.  


Tim, noticing that his brother only became more and more upset as the discussion carried on, tried to appease his big brother by offering him the exclusive opportunity of playing with his prized ‘Knex’ car, only to be rebuffed with an annoyed growl of, “You people don’t get the difference between ‘toy’ and ‘model’.”  
“Tony, quit sulking and finish your breakfast. I’ll see what I can do about fixing your model. In the meantime, I want you three to be on your best behavior today. Uncle Ducky is bringing Jimmy over and I want you kids to quit playing pranks on him all the time.”  


“Aww!” Abby moaned, “Not Jimmy! He’s sooooo boring.”  
“Yeah, all he ever does is talk about books!” Tony pitched in.  
Tim, not to be left out, nodded furiously.  


“That’s enough you three!” their father demanded, “Jimmy’s been through a lot this year. He does not need you guys picking on him as well.”  
Tony gazed down at the table, probably the most stricken by Gibbs’ words. As the oldest of the kids, he remembers the most of their mom and had had a really good relationship with her. Tony had been as much a pure mama’s boy as Abby was a daddy’s girl. And, as Tony had been seven when they’d lost Shannon, he could relate to what Jimmy was going through.  
Gibbs noticed the way his eldest quieted and reached out a hand to rub across the boy’s head. “You’re a good boy, Tony. I know you have it in you to give Jimmy another chance to prove how interesting and fun he can be.”  


“What about me?” Abby wheedled, hands clasped behind her back as she swayed back and forth.  
“You’re the best girl in this house,” Gibbs responded, “when you remember to listen to the rules.”  
The child smiled cheekily before continuing, “And what about Timmy?”  
“Once Timmy finishes his breakfast he’ll be Daddy’s good little man.”  


His youngest instantly started shoveling soggy cereal flakes into his mouth, eager to please as usual. Sometimes Gibbs worried whether this was standard procedure for five-year-olds. Tony and Abby were both happy to please their dad, but never quite as _hungry_. Tim would usually measure his accomplishments according to the reactions of those around him; if Tony ruffled his hair, he’d done a good job; if Abby gave him a squeeze, he should be proud of himself; if Dad gave him that proud look, he could go to bed happy. On the few occasions that Gibbs had told Tim he was disappointed in him, the boy had sulked for hours on end, sometimes even days. And unlike Abby, who would sulk until Gibbs told her she was forgiven, Tim continued to look disheartened and defeated long after.  


Which is why Gibbs always found it hard to communicate in what would be, to him, an ordinary manner, when it came to his youngest. Like now, simply saying the words, “Easy, Tim, slow down,” were enough to make the boy look down at the table regretfully, nodding once to show that he understood.  


“Hey, Tim, bet ya I can hold my breath longer ‘n you.” Tony was usually the one to get him out of it, thankfully.  
“Nuh-uh!”  
“Yuh-huh”  
“Well it’s not fair, Tony, your lungs are bigger,” Abby put forth, but to no avail since the boys were already in the midst of their battle.  
Gibbs groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face, realizing it would take a long time to get his kids ready for Ducky’s visit. Usually, he’d let them spend their week-ends however they wanted, but when guests came over he made sure they at least _looked_ like proper kids.  


Once Tim let out a gasped exhale and Tony started cheering, he ordered his oldest two kids to put on some clean clothes.  
“No, Tim,” he denied when the five-year-old stood up to follow his siblings, pointing once again at the kid’s breakfast when he looked up at his dad sorrowfully.  
“But Daddy,” the boy whined, “eating is a waste of time.”  
The first few times Tim had said that, Gibbs had laughed, wondering how long the kid would continue to think this way about food. A very long time, apparently, since it had already deescalated from being humorous to being troublesome.  
“Just eat, Tim.”  
“Don’ wanna’…”  
“Do you need help?” Jethro threatened, knowing that if there was one thing his youngest hated, it was assistance. The boy took after his older brother in that way, always wanting to do things on his own. The only difference was that where Tony flourished during the occasions when he was allowed to be independent and loved learning new things so he could be like the cool people from the movies he loved so much, Tim would often feel pressured into excelling at things he believed were important and felt stressed at the idea of failure. Learning how to tie his shoes was one of the things they were working on and Gibbs hated seeing the look of frustration on his boy’s face every time Tim failed to ‘get the bunny to jump through the hole’.  
“No, Daddy, I can do it!” came the expected reply.  
“Then hurry up, Tim. Ducky will be here soon.” ‘Soon’ considering it took his kids an eternity to get ready.  


With a huge sigh, the boy finished eating his breakfast and, after a nod of approval from his dad, headed upstairs to brush his teeth and get changed.  
It didn’t take long for Tony to come down dressed in his favorite _007_ T-shirt and the jeans with the holes in the knees which Jethro kept putting off patching up. The doorbell rang just as Gibbs was combing his fingers through a protesting Tony’s messy hair and Abby ran down the stairs to open the door, forgoing the usual “Hello how are you’s” and heading straight into the hugging part of a usual Abby welcome.  
Jimmy shied away when she moved over to hug him, however, hiding behind Ducky and burying his face in the man’s coat.  
“I’m sorry Abigail, mister Palmer is feeling a little bit modest today.” In truth, there wasn’t a single day that Jimmy didn’t shy away from them and Gibbs wouldn’t be surprised if Ducky had had to drag the boy here from the car. He noticed how his own children were sending the boy funny looks and told Tony to take their guests’ coats as he fixed them something to drink.  
“None of that powder, if you please, Jethro. I do so prefer the leafy variety.” Right, tea leaves not tea bags.  
“Oh and steeped in the-”  
“-Right pot, I know Duck. How about you, Jimmy? We’ve got orange juice, milk, soda and some kind of cherry-strawberry mixed drink Abby likes.”  
“If Jimmy gets to have soda we should be allowed, too,” Tony claimed.  
“Jimmy is not my son and therefore doesn’t have to follow my rules, Tony.” Said rules were currently magnetized to the fridge on two separate sheets of paper. They had started with three simple rules but had gone all the way up to thirty-five in the past seven years. Rule eleven was ‘no soda before three pm’ (‘and after five pm’ written in a hasty scrawl underneath) and his kids knew well enough what the consequences were if they didn’t listen.  
“Well, Jimmy? What’ll it be?”  


The child’s reply was so soft he didn’t hear it the first time, but the second whispered ‘Water, please, mister Gibbs’ did make Jethro’s eyebrows rise up on his forehead. He truly wondered when Jimmy would finally feel comfortable enough around them to not only speak up but to ask for what he wanted.  
“Alright then. One water coming right up.” Luckily Abby had taken over on the tea department because if there was one thing Gibbs knew he was awful at it was preparing tea.  
Once the proper amount of time had passed for the kids to feel like they were allowed to go back to what they were doing, Tony and Abby headed into the living room to play some more Playstation with Tim following close behind, only settling in front of the couch where his siblings sat to play with his Legos.  
“Jimmy, my boy, why don’t you play with Tony and Abby? It looks like they’re using one of those machines you like so much.”  
Jimmy pulled a small handheld gaming device out of his backpack and showed it to his guardian as if to say that it wasn’t the same thing at all because what he had did not require social interaction with others. At least, it seemed to Jethro that this was what Jimmy was trying to convey to his older friend.  
“Do you like Lego, Jim?” Gibbs asked, nodding in the direction of his youngest.  
Jimmy’s eyes suddenly lit up and he tentatively asked, “Can I build a castle?”  
Gibbs smiled down at him. “You can build whatever you want, kiddo.”  
The boy bravely walked over to the pile of Lego in front of Tim, asking politely if he could join, to which Tim nodded and pointed at the cover of the box and said something Ducky and Jethro couldn’t hear but assumed were instructions on how to build something. Both men were finally able to talk shop without young ears around to hear the details of the previous murder case.

In the meantime, Tony was trying to dodge the toes that kept jabbing into his side every time his sleek and shiny Aston Martin was about to take a turn. “Abby quit cheating just ‘cause you suck at this game!”  
“I’m just leveling the playing field!”  
“Oh yeah? How’s that?”  
“You’ve already leveled your car up to level nine! I’m still on three!”  
“Well then you should invest more of your time in the game.”  
“Or maybe _you_ should play less!”  


Their discussion was suddenly interrupted by an indignant cry of “No, no, no!” coming from their little brother. Pausing their game out of sheer astonishment, they watched the five-year-old stand up and chuck a handful of Lego pieces at the floor.  
“Woah!” Tony uttered, “What’s up, Timmy?”  
“He’s doing it wrong!” Tim complained with a frustrated edge to his tone, “It’s supposed to be a space ship!”  
“Well it’s not a space ship yet, Tim, but I’m sure it’ll look like one when it’s done,” Abby soothed.  
“No! He’s buildin’ a castle!”  
Three pairs of eyes fixed on Jimmy, who stood up as well and backed up a little. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know it _had_ to be a spaceship.”  
“Yes you did! I told you! I showed you the box!”  
“B-but I th-thought that it was just an-an option, you know? I d-didn’t think you’d mind building a c-castle.”  
Tim pulled at his hair in frustration. “The box says spaceship!” he yelled, looking at Jimmy like he was the dumbest kid he’d ever played with.  
Jethro and Ducky walked in then, Jethro led by the hand by Abby who had gone to fetch him during the fight.  
“What’s going on?” Gibbs asked, giving his youngest a stern look.  
Tim seemed much calmer now that he was able to get rid of his bad building buddy. “Jimmy’s buildin’ a castle.”  
His dad, however, simply lifted an eyebrow and said, “Yeah, and?”  
Tim’s own eyebrows knotted until he realized his dad hadn’t seen the box yet. He picked it up and showed it to him. “That’s a spaceship.”  
“I can see that, Timbo.”  
Sighing and clearly unnerved, the child said, “ _Those_ Legos come from _this_ box.”  
Jethro looked up at Ducky for a second, clearly concerned about the mental welfare of his youngest. ‘This normal?’ he mouthed at the older man, who put a hand on his shoulder and nodded shortly before sitting down where Abby had previously been sitting and beckoning Jim over so he could assure him he hadn’t done anything wrong. In the meantime, Jethro picked his youngest up and brought him upstairs to his room so they could talk without being watched or interrupted.  
“Where’re we goin’? Why’re you not punishin’ Jimmy, Daddy?”  
“We’re just gonna’ have a little talk, okay, amigo?”  
Smiling at the funny word, the boy bobbed his head in agreement and sat down quietly when Gibbs put him on his bed.  


Jethro, totally out of his element, tried to figure out how to ask his son if he was just anal about certain things because he liked them that way or because he thought they _had_ to be that way.  


“Okay, Tim, why don’t you explain to me why you got so mad at Jimmy.”  
Tim huffed, obviously annoyed at having to explain the same thing over again. “He wasn’t following the ‘structions, Daddy.”  
“Right. And that made you upset.”  
The boy nodded.  
“Okay, uh, let’s see… Tim, you know how Abby likes to eat her avocado in slices on toast?”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“But you and Tony like it mashed into guacamole, right?”  
“Yeah, Tony makes chip sandwiches!”  
Gibbs smiled. “Right. And they’re both avocado. There is no right or wrong way to eat it.”  
Tim’s eyebrows scrunched together as he picked at an old scar on his arm. “But, what’s the recicipe say?”  
“There is no recipe.”  


Clumsily pushing back his bangs with his palm, Tim huffed and gazed down at the floor. “Then what does Daddy say?”  
Feeling a warm feeling spreading through his chest, Gibbs reached over and smoothed the boy’s hair back. “I don’t tell you to do it in a certain way.”  
“But- then- it doesn’t- Daddy!” Tim whined, starting to scratch his right arm ferociously.  
“Hey, sshh, Tim.” The man pulled his boy up into his lap and caught both tiny hands in his right. “Calm down, tiger. It’s okay.”  
“No! It’s not supposed to work that way!” Tim insisted, struggling to free himself. Jethro relaxed his grip a bit but cupped his free hand around the nape of his son’s neck to keep him in place. “Hey,” he said in a soothing voice, which brought Tim’s eyes up to his face, gazing imploringly up at him as if he should know what to do about this. “Take it easy,” he suggested, thinking it was a better start than none, “we’re not going anywhere until we get to the bottom of this.”  


He almost laughed at the crestfallen expression on his son’s face but managed to remain serious for Tim’s sake.  
“Look, everyone’s different, Tim, and everyone wants to do different things. But that doesn’t mean that one person is right and the other person is wrong. Sometimes, there is no right or wrong. You like to wear blue shirts and Tony likes to wear grey ones. Neither one is more ‘right’ or more ‘wrong’ than the other. Capisce?”  


Big green eyes looked around the room as Gibbs’ youngest processed this information. After a good solid thirty seconds of silence, the boy looked back up at his father and nodded, holding his thumb and index finger together as he replied, “Kapeesh.”  


Knowing that though this was the ending of their conversation, it was not yet the end of the problem, Jethro hoisted his kid over his shoulder and before the boy could start giggling, landed three sharp smacks on his behind.  
“Ow! Daddy whu-“  
“You know better than to throw your toys, Timothy. You could have hurt Jim.”  
“Dinnitmeanto!” the boy protested, but knew his father was waiting for an actual apology and pressed his face into the man’s flannel, uttering a soft “M’sorry.” It was good enough for Gibbs, who ran a large hand over the small back and stood up, carrying his youngest downstairs in a fireman’s carry.  


Tony looked up the moment he heard them heading over, reaching his arms out in Tim’s direction in a display of affection that was becoming more and more rare these days. But if there was one thing that never changed about Gibbs’ kids, it was the way they would band together when other people encroached on their ‘territory’. Tim, who was starting to miss the way the two of them used to huddle close in blanket forts and cardboard spaceships, was more than happy to be placed in the ten-year-old’s lap and watch Tony race. Abby, who had given Jimmy her controller in an effort to make the boy feel better, had also relinquished her seat and was now sitting on the floor in front of the TV, absentmindedly mashing black and red pieces of Lego together. Ducky was sitting against the far end of the couch for the obvious reason; placing the two boys beside each-other and forcing Jimmy to accept physical proximity. From what Jethro could see, the boy was more focused on the screen anyway. So was Tim, who instead of scooting away from the boy who had ‘ruined his spaceship’, actually scratched an itch on Jim’s nose when the older boy complained about it. When Jimmy turned his eyes up at the five-year-old in wonder, Tim pulled his hand back and started twirling the sleeve of Tony’s shirt (much to his dismay), muttering, “Sorry for shoutin’.”  


Jimmy smiled and replied, “That’s okay. I get angry, too, sometimes.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ages in this installment: 

Tony: 13 Ziva: 12 Abby: 11 Jimmy: 9 Tim: 8 

Next chapter will be more Abby-centric :) 

  


Gibbs is sure now that the bird that decided to fly into the kitchen window just as the Gibbs kids sat down to eat breakfast was a sign of foreboding. Abby had shrieked and started a rant on how inhumane it was for Gibbs to just leave it on the ground instead of burying it whilst Tony dared Tim to go and touch it. 

“Abby, it’s unsanitary. Don’t touch it. That goes for you too, Tony, Tim.” 

“I wasn’t gonna’ do it, Dad,” Tim states, glaring at Tony, who mouths back, ‘Chicken.’ 

“Dad! It’s bad enough that it flew into our window ‘cause our house is in the way! Poor thing doesn’t need to be eaten by wild animals.” 

“And how do you propose they get their food, then?” Jethro replies, knowing he’s got her there and hoping she’ll let the matter drop. Thankfully, she does, but he has a feeling he hasn’t heard the end of it yet. 

“Hey daddy-o,” Tony pipes up through a mouthful of syrupy pancake, “Jake, Caleb and I are going to the movies after school, ‘kay?” 

“Not “’kay”, Tony. I need you to stay here and watch Tim while Abby and I go to the orthodontist.” 

“But Dad! I already told them I’d go!” 

The eldest Gibbs sighs as he stands up to fill his coffee thermos. “Well then you shouldn’t have done that. I’ve told you countless times before to ask me for permission first so you don’t have to let anyone down.” 

“Better to seek forgiveness than to ask permission,” Tony bites back. 

“Did Mike tell you that? I told him not to tell you guys that,” Gibbs grumbles. 

“So does that mean I can go?”

“No.” 

“Dad, c’mon! It’s the new Batman movie!” 

“Then take Tim with you.” 

“With my friends? No way!” 

“I like Batman,” Tim puts forth. “But, anyway, I don’t need a babysitter, Dad. I’m eight.” 

“And you’ll need a sitter ‘till you’re twelve.” 

“That’s not fair, I only convinced you I didn’t need a sitter like two weeks ago!” Abby complains. 

“Tough.” 

“Arrgh I can’t believe you’re making me tell the guys I can’t go.” 

“I’m not a baby! I don’t need a sitter!” 

“ENOUGH!” 

Three pairs of wide eyes look up at their father as he attempts to calm down with a sip of hot Joe. None of them move an inch until Gibbs pulls a hand through his hair and states calmly, “Backpacks, shoes on, car.” 

Tim still has a bit of trouble tying his shoelaces once in a while but what with the tense atmosphere he decides to leave them untied and scrambles into the car next to Abby, who pats her lap without a word so she can tie them for him. With his feet in Abby’s lap he has no choice but to latch on to Tony’s seat up front. Irritated and moody, Tony grumbles, “Let go, brat.” 

“Notabrat!” the youngest shouts, pinching Tony’s arm. 

“Argh! You so are!” 

“Knock it off, the both of you!” 

“Daddy, I really want to dye my hair black like Lacey did.” 

“Who’s Lacey?” Tony asks, raising his eyebrows suggestively. 

“No,” Is Gibbs’ simple reply. 

“But everyone at school is dying their hair!” 

“Maybe we should Nair Tim’s off,” Tony proposes with a wicked grin on his face. 

“Shut up!” Tim screams from the back seat, leading Gibbs to reach back and slap him sharply on the thigh with a short barked, “Language!” 

“He started it!” 

“I’m finishing it! I mean it, not another word out of you two.” 

Abby, who is as per usual extremely uncomfortable with conflict, cheers up the instant the school building is in sight. The second the car is stationary she pulls her winged backpack onto her shoulder and heads toward the steps, only turning back for a quick, “Later, dad!”

Tony is a little bit slower in heading in, but not because he wants to stay in the car longer. Dreading the day of boring schoolwork that awaits him, he hoists his backpack out of the foot well and tries one more time for some sympathy from his father. 

“Dad, are you absolutely certain you want to punish me for nothing?” 

Jethro sighs. “I’m not punishing you, Tony. I’m asking you to look after your brother while I’m out.” 

“That’s the same thing!” his eldest whines, clearly unimpressed with his verdict. 

“Just go already!” Tim snipes, causing Tony to look up in surprise. Normally he loves making his kid brother go blue in the face trying to win an argument with him, but he’s never seen Tim this, well, hostile before. The shock quickly melts into anger, however, and he slams the door shut with a grumble before heading in. 

Turning around in his seat, Jethro observes the little scrunched up face following Tony’s every move. “Hey,” he says, tapping the boy’s knee so he’ll look at him, “be good for Tony.” 

“Mmmn.” 

“No, no ‘mm’. You know what I wanna’ hear.” 

Tim lets out a little sigh before stating, “Yes sir.” 

“G’boy.”  
  
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_  
  


No more than ten minutes after Gibbs dropped Tony and Tim off at home, the doorbell rings. Tim is sitting on the countertop in the kitchen jamming a spoon into their tub of Rocky Road when Josh Deterson’s voice filters in from the living room; “C’mon, Tony, just ditch the kid!” 

“I can’t, man. The stupid kid would hit his head on the stove or something.” 

“Nah, Timmy ain’t stupid. He can look after himself – he’s seven friggin years old. C’mon, you deserve this after what mister Hendricks put you through today.” 

“I dunno’, Josh. He can’t even fix his own supper.” 

“So you leave him some money for pizza. Y’know, Harry says Alona is coming.” 

That must’ve done the trick, because Tim doesn’t hear either one of them for a good while. Whilst he had preened at Josh’s backwards compliment, he’s not sure what to think of the whole situation. Most of all he just wants to go with them and watch Batman but he’s also kind of mad at Tony and he doesn’t want to ‘tag along’. Actually, he’d be happiest if it was just the two of them and they went because they both like Batman and not because Aloha or whatever is going to be there. 

Tony enters the kitchen with ten bucks in his hand, stopping short when he sees the tub of ice cream in Tim’s lap. “Well I guess you don’t need money for pizza,” he drawls with a smirk. 

Blushing, Tim pulls the spoon out of the frozen goodness and seals it again. “What do you want?” 

“Look, Josh says you’re big enough to look after yourself, and I wanna’ believe him but it’s kinda’ hard when you keep acting like a little kid.” 

“Am not!” 

“See? Like that. Just grow up already, Tim.” 

“Well I don’t need you to do that so just go away.” 

Tony’s eyes sparkle with what Tim assumes is glee before a big smile spreads on his face and he states, “Good to hear that. So, I’m gonna’ head to the movies with the gang and I’ll be back by seven-thirty. Dad said he’d be home at around seven-forty-five, eight if he brings a movie. So don’t try and rat me out ‘cause I’ll be back before you can.” 

“Wasn’t gonna’,” Tim mutters. 

“Now I like you, man.” 

“Whatever.” Tim doesn’t say ‘whatever’ a lot. It used to be Abby’s favorite word but it always pisses Dad off so she stopped saying it. He hopes it pisses Tony off just as much. 

“OK, see ya later squirt!” 

Instead of replying he reaches for the ice cream and begins to settle in for a boring afternoon when an idea pops into his head. Tony’s not the only one who can have fun. Tony’s not the only one who can break Dad’s rules. Tony’s gone and nobody’s here to watch him and he can do anything he wants! And that includes going out.  
  
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_  
  


Gibbs and Abby come home exactly one minute after Tony did, so he considers himself lucky. He also hopes Tim didn’t eat that entire bucket of ice cream because he’s certain the kid will barf it all back up right in front of their dad and get them both into trouble. Speaking of Tim, he didn’t see the little bugger when he walked in. He figures the kid is probably just sulking in his room, playing with his old power rangers. 

“Tony, Tim, we’re back!” Jethro calls out as he opens the door. Abby goes for the freezer immediately, grabbing an icepack for her cheeks. 

“Whe’d all the wocky woad go?” she asks around a mouthful of braces. Gibbs heaves a sigh and then breathes out a chuckle. At least his boys kept themselves entertained. 

“Tony? Tim?” he calls out again. 

“’Sup dad?” Tony replies, grabbing the two DVD’s he’s brought back off the counter for inspection. 

“Hey kid. Where’s your brother?” 

“Uh, I dunno’. Probably up in his room or something.” 

Looking confused, Jethro demands, “Well go get him.” 

Tony sighs and heads back upstairs. “Stupid kid bugging me even when he’s being quiet.” He doesn’t bother knocking on the door and just swings it open instead. “C’mon, Tim, stop being a little bi—” 

A moment of silence passes before Tony flies down the stairs, going through all the rooms like the house is on fire and he’s trying to get their most precious possessions out. Which the kid kind of is. 

In his panic he doesn’t see his dad until he runs right into him. 

“Tony. Where’s Tim?” Gibbs has his arms crossed and he’s looking down at him with barely controlled consternation. 

He is sure now that the bird that decided to fly into the kitchen window just as his kids sat down to eat breakfast was a sign of foreboding. Just when he feels that he’s about to retch, Abby shouts from the living room, “Found ‘im!” 

The two of them come running without a second’s delay, Gibbs pausing only momentarily when his eyes settle on his youngest before dropping onto one knee and turning Tim over his bent leg. The swats fall quickly and without any censure, sending a clear message: stay where I tell you to. Once the swats count up to ten, Jethro crushes the boy against his chest in an adrenaline-laden embrace, causing Tim to go limp in an attempt to please his father. 

“Don’t you _ever_ run off like that again, you hear me?!” 

“Yes, Daddy.” He doesn’t say ‘Daddy’ very often anymore, reserving it for the times that he’s in trouble or about to be. He figures this counts as one of those moments where he needs to get back into his father’s good graces. “I didn’t run off, though. I was in the yard.” 

“In – in the yard? What the hell were you doing in the yard?” 

“Looked like he set up a tent,” Abby supplies, “I really like the LED lights, by the way. Nice touch.” Tim wants to smile at her but the look on his dad’s face is mutinous. 

“So if you were in the garden, why didn’t you warn Tony that you were leaving the house?” 

At this he looks up at his older brother, who looks back with an equal amount of trepidation on his face. “We--ell,” Tim starts, only to be cut off by Tony’s, “It’s my fault, Dad. I left him here alone. I know it was stupid and irresponsible and it wasn’t worth seeing the stupid Batman movie and—” 

“Hold up,” Gibbs interrupts, “you left your brother here alone so you could see a _movie_?!” 

“Yes,” his eldest replies in a tiny voice. 

“I can take care of myself,” Tim pipes up. Abby shushes him and attempts to pull him away so they can go up to their rooms, but Jethro stops her. 

“No you can’t, Timothy. The rules are in place for a reason and as long as you live under my roof, young man, you’re damn well going to follow them!” 

Tears gather in his youngest’s eyes but Gibbs knows they’ll be gone once the shock of having his father yell at him twice in one night wears off. 

“And you,” he says, rounding on Tony, “you and I are going to have a chat in your room. Abby, take Tim upstairs and get ready for bed.” 

It’s awkward heading up together, especially with Gibbs’ eyes burning a hole into the back of Tony’s skull. (Or so it seems.) 

The instant his dad shuts the door to his room Tony knows he’s not in for a good time. He watches with barely concealed dread as he pulls his belt out of the loops in his jeans and readies himself for a bout of intense ass whipping. 

When Gibbs pats his knee Tony nervously clears his throat and attempts to joke, “This thing’s my money-maker so go easy, yeah?” He knows it was the wrong thing to say when his dad shoots him an acrid look. “Do you think this is a joke, Tony?!” Before Tony can answer he continues, “Do you think your brother’s life isn’t important? That being cool is more important?!” 

“No!” 

“Then why did you do it? To get back at me for telling you you couldn’t go?” He wants to say no but he knows it would cheapen the first negation and he doesn’t want that. Because, even if the kid can be an annoyance, he’s still his little brother. “Maybe.” 

“I’m gonna’ need more than ‘maybe’, son.” 

“It’s just that, well, I really wanted to go. And you said no after I told the guys I’d go and Alona was watching and then after she said she was going and I thought maybe it was cuz I was going and Tim kept sayin’ he could take care of himself when I told him to stop bein’ a baby.” 

“So you’re saying that you were trying to impress a girl.” 

Blushing something fierce, Tony nods shortly. 

“And that you’re frustrated because Tim is younger than you.” 

“It’s not that he’s younger, it’s that he acts younger.” 

“That’s because he _is_ , Tony. You know how he looks up to you; if you tell him he needs to man up he’ll take you seriously. But he’s only eight. He’s still a kid. I know you felt like – 

I know you had to grow up really fast when mom died, and that’s on me. But that doesn’t mean Tim needs to be as mature as you were back then. D’you understand?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Good, ‘cause you’re in for a helluva spanking.” 

The second he’s in position over his father’s lap the belt comes down. Sharply. He doesn’t know what’s worse, though; the pain of the belt, or the humiliation he feels once his dad pulls his jeans and underwear down to check the damage. Maybe it’s the twenty swats with the hand that come after, like Gibbs has changed his mind and decided to use his hand, anyway, even though he normally uses the belt after instead of before. By the time it’s finished, he’s blubbering like a baby and can’t seem to stop. He thinks it’s the idea that something could have happened to Tim while he was away, but he knows it’s mostly the fact that he let his father down. 

He feels Gibbs pulling him up by his armpits, dragging him onto the bed so he can lay against his dad’s chest. “Ssshh, it’s okay, Ace, it’s over now. You did good.” Big palms draw big circles on his back as soothing fingers card through his hair. “’S okay now. Deep breaths. Good boy.” 

“S-sorry, ‘m so sorry,” he cries, hiding his face in his dad’s flannel. 

“I know you are, chum. But it’s over now and you’re forgiven, alright? Everyone’s safe. I’m not angry and I’m not disappointed. You’re a kid who made a mistake and paid the piper. All I want is that you learn from it, okay?” 

“Gotcha,” Tony replies shakily, wiping his nose on his sleeve. 

“C’mere.” Jethro hoists him up a little higher so he can ruffle his hair and squeeze him tighter. 

“Daaaad,” he whines, even though he’s smiling. 

The moment of affection meets its end at the time the sound of loud retching is heard from the bathroom. They both groan, Tony offering a quiet, “Tim got into the ice cream before I left.” 

“Alright,” Gibbs says, giving him a quick pat on the butt before he gets up, eliciting a short yelp from his oldest, “time to see about your brother.” 

Tim is curled around the porcelain bowl like he thinks he’ll spontaneously combust if he lets go. Gibbs lightly raps his knuckles against against the door as he enters. “How you doing, kiddo?” 

The child jerks at the sound of his voice, curling tighter around the bowl as he tackles another bout of sickness. Jethro lowers himself to the floor beside him, wanting to place a comforting hand on the back of the boy’s neck only to be rebuffed as Tim jerks away. 

Gibbs frowns. “Y’think maybe next time you might wanna’ forgo the ‘ice cream for dinner’ idea?” 

Tim nods, offering no further answer. Gibbs can tell that he’s in pain, not just from the sounds his stomach’s making and the pinched look on his face. 

The next time his kid loses his biscuits, he makes sure his youngest can’t shake off the hand rubbing circles on his back. Like it or not, he’s eight years old and Gibbs knows enough about parenting to not leave his sick kid to his own devices. 

“Okay, that’s good, let it all out.” He tries to sound gentle and sympathetic, knowing that his kids get very self-conscious when ill. 

“N…g’way,” Tim mumbles. 

Jethro scoots a little closer. “Hmm?” 

“Go ’way dad.” 

Taken aback, he tries, “You know you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, yeah? It’s just puke.” He doesn’t mention the act of eating an entire tub of ice cream because Tim is too damn young to be thinking about things like that. 

“Jus’ go away. Please.” 

He wants to get up and leave, wants to be angry about it, wants to let it stew in his and Tim’s guts until they eventually forget about it. But he’s a parent, now. Has been for thirteen years, six of those going it solo. 

And so he asks, “Why?” 

And Tim informs him tonelessly, “I’m mad at you.” 

He huffs out a half-chuckle, knowing Tim would only get more upset if he laughed at him. “Why’s that?” 

His son huffs back, resting his forearm on the toilet seat so he can press his eyes into his sleeve. “You were shoutin’.” 

“I was,” Jethro agrees, “you made me very upset.” 

“Didn’t mean to.” 

He wonders how his kids are able to loosen something sharp and heavy in his chest and turn it into warm goo. Tony does it with his smile, which is one fourth Shannon’s and three fourths his own. Abby does it when she places all her trust in him, like he hung the stars in the sky. And Tim does it by uttering things he deems simple phrases in a blasé manner. 

“I know you didn’t, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t think before you do stuff next time.” 

“I think all the time.” 

This time he can’t stop the chuckle rising up in his throat. “Yeah, that’s why you’re a smart kid. So maybe next time you might wanna’ leave a note before you start pitching tents in the backyard, hm?” 

Blushing, Tim lowers his head, nodding. “Yeah,” he whispers. 

“Good boy. You think you’re done?” 

Looking remarkably less green around the gills, Tim gets up, flushes the toilet and heads for the sink to clean himself up. Instead of helping like he wants to, Gibbs leans against the wall, waiting for him to finish. He’s only eight, but that doesn’t mean he can’t wash his own face. 

“Sorry for tellin’ you to go,” Tim says when he turns around. 

Jethro smiles and brushes a hand through the kid’s hair, letting him know he’s forgiven in his own way. “C’mon, Tiger, time for bed.” He’s eight, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be thrown over his shoulder. 

Tony’s waiting for them in Tim’s room, fiddling with one of the atoms of Tim’s science project. The boy doesn’t seem to mind and on the contrary seems happy his older brother is interested in something he made. Placing a quick peck on his youngest’s cheek, he sets him down on his bed beside Tony. 

“Don’t keep him up too late, Tony. And make sure you’re in bed by ten.” 

“Yessiree.” 

At the end of the day, he can’t ask for better kids than his.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don’t own NCIS 

Ages in this installment: 

Tony: 7 Ziva: 6 Abby: 5 Jimmy: 4 Tim: 2

  
Hey guys. After what happened here in Belgium on the 22nd I wasn’t in the mood to write for a bit. Sorry about that. The thing is, I realized that I could use my grief for the better, since I’ve been planning on writing something a little bit darker for the Gibblets. Oh and in case any of you were wondering, everyone I know is, thank goodness, okay. Now, on with the story!

Oh wait! Uhm, you may notice that Shannon was on her way to collect Tim. No worries, this will be discussed in another chapter. Just felt like the different types of angst wouldn’t mix well. Now for realsies on with the story!  


____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  


It’s the fifth time in as many days that he awakens to the sound of Abby’s crying. Only just able to fall asleep himself, Gibbs’s first instinct is to be annoyed, until the ever-present hole in his stomach makes itself known through the early morning grogginess. It’s five a.m. on a Tuesday, but neither he nor his children have anywhere to be. NCIS has him on leave for a month and the same goes for his children, who were granted time to process the demise of their mother before having to return to school. Fat load of good that will do.

  


He considers making himself a cup of coffee before tackling Abby’s monsters, but decides against it, knowing his little girl needs him now. 

  


The door is open when Gibbs arrives at Abby’s room and he suddenly notices the shushing sounds coming from his eldest’s bedroom. Cracking open the door across the hall, he finds Tony cradling his little sister in his arms, trying to hum Shannon’s favorite lullaby with a cracked voice. Feeling eyes on him, Tony looks up and spots his father. He nudges Abby gently and says, “Dad’s here, Abbs, it’s okay now.” 

  


And there’s that weight again. He doesn’t know how to fill the gap their mother left, and he certainly doesn’t feel capable enough to try. Gut clenching, he leans down to gather his girl up, but it’s like she can feel his discontent with having to deal with her problems on top of his own, causing her to sit stiffly in his embrace instead of melting against him like she usually does. Tears pool on his collarbone as she sniffles softly, trying to be quiet so she doesn’t wake Tim up, or irritate her highly-strung father. Or both. Jethro runs a hand up and down her back, squats down to kiss his son goodnight and heads back to Abby’s room. 

  


Her bed is still made with the sheets Shannon had put on it, which are long overdue a wash. He sits down on the colorful flower pattern and stretches his legs out on the bed, knowing he’ll likely be sitting here for a while. Abby is quiet, save for her crying, offering none of the questions Jethro has no answers to, but instead of feeling grateful he feels helpless, for he knows the only reason she doesn’t ask them is because she knows her all-powerful father is now lacking, incapable of keeping their family together. 

  


Approximately an hour later, Abby’s weeping has tapered off into the occasional sniffle, and her body has finally relaxed against his chest, though he knows it’s only because she’s spent. They all are. Tony hasn’t eaten properly in days, Abby can’t sleep, and Tim keeps asking where his mommy is. He hasn’t realized what a terrible father he is until now, now that he needs Shannon the most. 

  


“Can I go to school today?” Abby suddenly asks through the stifling silence. 

  


“Do you want to?” 

  


She sniffles. “Yeah,” is all she says, but Jethro hears, _“It’s better than being here all day.”_ She’s right. 

  


He kisses the top of her head. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

  


They get up. He makes his kids oatmeal. It’s the only thing he knows will keep his kids partially full even if they feel like they can only stomach a couple of bites. 

  


Tony heads down without his usual bedhead, Tim following close behind. Even though his youngest hasn’t yet processed the idea that his mother will never be coming back, he picks up on the tense atmosphere in the house, tastes the stale tang of grief in the air Jethro keeps trying to chase through cracked windows. 

  


Abby’s eyes are puffy and red the way they were after the accident. Shannon had picked Abby up from school before heading to Tim’s daycare/preschool when it happened. Abby had been in the backseat and had therefore suffered minimal damage. Afterward, Jethro was told that if she had been sitting behind Shannon, she most likely would have died on impact as well. For just a tiny moment, he’d wondered if perhaps that would have been kinder. That way, his child wouldn’t have been crying for her mother until the paramedics arrived. At least the only real injury she’d suffered was a couple of bruised ribs. The bruises all over her body have yet to fade, though, but in a sick way, Gibbs doesn’t want them to. He doesn’t want them to go, because if they do, they have to move on and continue to live on without Shannon. 

  


“Where’s momma?” Tim pipes up, as if on cue. It feels like a stab to the heart, causing his body to go limp. He doesn’t even react when an irate Tony shoves Tim and shouts, “Just stop it already!” He doesn’t soothe away Tim’s whimpers, doesn’t try to coax Abby into eating a spoonful of breakfast. He doesn’t even get up to open the door when he hears the doorbell. 

  


Tim apparently had, though, because the next thing he sees is Ducky heading toward him with a sniffling Tim on his hip. The kindly doctor extends a hand toward him to help him off the floor that Gibbs suddenly notices he’d slid down onto, pulls him up to standing before shoving him onto a barstool at the kitchen island. He fills a glass with tap water and pushes it into Gibbs’s hand before doing the same for Tim. Jethro watches and feels another sharp pang in his chest at the look of relief on Tim’s face as he guzzles down the cool liquid. 

  


“Do not blame yourself, Jethro,” Ducky says, ever able to read his friend’s facial expressions. “I see you have made them breakfast. Have you, yourself, eaten yet?” 

  


He sighs and shakes his head. 

  


“They won’t eat if you don’t, Jethro. You know that.” 

  


He does know that. He just can’t bring himself to do something as _ordinary_ as eating. To dishonor the death of his beloved Shannon so. He slips back into the calm state of nothingness he’s been feeling himself slide down to these past few days, letting his eyes roam over his guest’s activities but not registering another word he says, resurfacing briefly when he hears a sharp cough. 

  


“Here you go, my dear. I’ve added some honey for your throat. Don’t forget to blow, sweetheart.” 

  


Abby stirs the tea listlessly, staring down at the mug’s contents with a hollow expression. 

  


“Come, Tony, you need to eat,” Ducky urges, gently steering his son toward the kitchen island again, making him sit down and watching him like a hawk until he’s forced down at least three bites of oatmeal. At last he grabs Tim’s smaller utensils and helps him feed himself, making sure he’s got a tight grip on the spoon. 

  


Gibbs feels the tenuous grip on composure everyone is holding on to snap suddenly at the gasping sob surging forth from his middle child. The instant Abby starts crying, Tim joins in too, and before he knows it all three of his children are sobbing miserably into their breakfast. Ducky tries to hold all three of them at once but Gibbs can see it’s an uncomfortable position for all four of them. Still he doesn’t get up. He sits and lets his gaze wander from his kids to Ducky to the empty chair across from him and he lays his forehead down on the cool marble surface beneath his palms. 

  


  


  


First it’s Jenny with a casserole and some toys for the kids. She sits and talks with them a while but seems wary of overstepping her welcome, leaving before Tim seems ready to let her up. 

  


His dad comes next, looking at them all with melancholy eyes. It doesn’t come as a shock to Gibbs that his grandpa-loving children remain politely distant. They’re like dogs, his kids, able to sniff out tension. Abby even entered the kitchen to glare at Jack when he’d been telling Jethro about how he knew what he was going through and that perhaps now he could understand how hard life had been on him. 

  


It’s Mike that brings them all takeout, marking the first time this week it’s easy to get Tony to eat. Abby only eats the fortune cookies, handing the fortunes off to Mike to roll into a dinosaur. Jethro feels grateful that Tony is intent on following Mike around everywhere, for every time Mike tries to have a private talk with him his son is nearby, making it impossible to talk about his grief. 

  


Tobias is the next to try and pull him out of his shell. He brings badly-made chili which his children refuse to eat and a bag full of games for a Playstation they don’t have. On the upside, he doesn’t ask any questions; simply sits with him and sips his beer, making idle remarks about how the kids have grown so much in such a short time, etcetera. 

  


His teammates are awkward around his children, patting them on the head and baby-talking them. Tony actually speaks up for once, telling Allens off by pulling Tim against himself, sneering, “He’s two, not an idiot.” Gibbs wants to be proud, or stern, or that mild mixture between the two, but he just can’t. 

  


It’s Shannon’s mother that pulls him out of the funk. Mrs Fielding, as he used to call her, is the one who gets Abby to finally embrace a full night’s sleep. She fixes Abby’s hair the way she likes it, makes sure she brushes her teeth properly and stays hydrated throughout the day through moderate bribery. And an Abby at her best is an Abby who knows what her daddy needs even though he won’t say it. Looking apprehensive at first, she finally crawls up into his lap and pulls his face toward her so she can run her tiny little digits across his features, the way she used to do when she was three. Watching silently with his two other children on her lap, mrs. Fielding nods approvingly when his gaze meets hers, and it seems like a chord has snapped in his gut. He tightens his arms around Abby and lowers his head, pulling her against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he croaks, remorse filling every single bone of his body. “I’m so sorry.” _I couldn’t save her. Your daughter, your mother. I couldn’t save her and now she’s gone and we’re left here alone and I’m so sorry._

  


His children surrounding him now, he gathers them to him instinctively so that they might collectively release the hurt. 

  


It’s a stupid thought. The pain won’t magically go away. It will linger on, digging and scratching at their brains, demanding to be felt. But with time, he hopes it will dampen. His children don’t deserve this, they shouldn’t have to cater to this unwanted guest. He will have to be strong, now, so that he can take the burden from them, as much as he can. As much as they are willing. For he has selfless children, and he hopes it won’t be their undoing.


End file.
